


my eyes shall see right again

by tosca1390



Category: West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I’m meeting him tonight, Sam. Do you listen to anything I say?” </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	my eyes shall see right again

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [the Never Met an AU We Didn't Like Comment Fic-A-Thon](http://tosca1390.livejournal.com/313314.html) for who asked for a You Got Mail AU for Sam/Ainsley. Takes place in Season Three, I guess. I imagine President Bartlet is basically behind it all.

*

“It’s tonight,” Ainsley says as she sits down across from Sam in his office, a peach muffin in her palm. 

Eyebrows rising, Sam sets down the report he was perusing and tilts his head. “What’s tonight?”

“I’m meeting him tonight, Sam. Do you listen to anything I say?” she teases, crossing her legs. 

He smiles slightly, and she feels it, that strange little tug in her middle. “Excuse me for trying to help run the country.”

“You are the one who wanted to participate in this exercise in futility,” she says with a sigh. “I certainly did not need to involve you in the charade that is internet dating.”

“Calling it a date already, huh?” he murmurs, glancing back down at his papers. 

Ainsley watches him carefully. Spring sunlight filters through the blinds and reflects against his glasses and in the dark of his hair. Outside, the bullpen is slow; next door, Toby paces and tosses his rubber ball because he can’t handle a quiet day without grumbling and panicking. The Iceland trip is here and gone, and she watches Sam, even more closely than usual; he’s taking the leak of the tape hard, and she doesn’t really _want_ him to. He’s too damn earnest for his own good sometimes. 

“I suppose so,” she says, setting the muffin and a napkin on the edge of his desk and beginning to break it apart. 

“Second breakfast?” he quips. 

“Sam – “

He looks at her then, pulling his glasses from his face with a quick flick of his wrist. “The amount of food you eat is charming, Ainsley.” 

She frowns, popping a chunk of muffin into her mouth. The top lingers, waiting; she likes to save it for last. “I’m nervous,” she says finally. 

Sam’s face softens, warms. She leans back and sighs quietly, glancing out the window. It’s been a strange six months; the late nights of the MS hearings are to blame for this, she thinks. If she hadn’t felt so strangely out of her skin, she may not have ever gone into that chatroom, and met this man, and started this whole mess of an email relationship – 

And she may not be in love with Sam, the way she’s sure she is. They’ve had their bumps and their grooves in the road, but he’s truly one of her closest friends – and it’s more than that. And sometimes, when she catches his eye in just the right light, between Josh and Toby fighting and C.J. rolling her eyes over a grasshopper, she thinks, _maybe_ –

But she has a date with a stranger from the internet tonight, and there’s little to do for it now, she thinks. 

“Don’t be,” Sam says at last. “If he knows what’s good for you, he won’t let you go this time.”

“Must you remind me of the _last_ time?” she asks archly. 

“I just want you to retain the whole picture,” he says lightly, some strange curve to his mouth. He reaches over and plucks a piece of muffin from the napkin. “So where are you meeting him?”

“On the steps of Congress, at sunset.”

“So romantic,” he deadpans. 

She wrinkles her nose. “It was his idea, not mine.”

“What a yuppie.”

There’s a lump in her throat, one she can’t swallow down with muffins and small talk. “Sam – “

“You know, I thought once – if I hadn’t yelled at you about guns and you hadn’t humiliated me on television,” he interrupts, thoughtful. “I thought maybe I’d ask for your number. If we’d just met at some fundraiser or party or whatever, I’d ask – and I’d call right away.”

A flush crawls up her throat, and she leans forward. “Sam, what – “

“I mean, it’s all besides the point now. Sometimes, I think about it, though.”

And then, as she stares and tries to think of something to say that won’t betray her every thought, he shrugs and puts his glasses back on. “This guy, the law guy. He’ll be good for you. You might even share your food with him,” he says with a smile. 

It’s utterly casual and she doesn’t know what to say. Instead, she finishes her muffin in silence and stands. Her mouth curls as she watches his eyes linger on the length of her legs past the hem of her skirt. 

“You’re the only one I share with, Sam,” she says at last before she turns and walks out of his office. 

*

Armed with well wishes from Donna, C.J., Leo – The President too, which was utterly surreal -, Ainsley makes her way towards the Hill, towards those steps she knows almost better than her home. The spring day is cooling into a brisk night. She will know him by the box of cupcakes in his hands, he said in his email. 

Months ago, they had tried this once before. She had waited in a coffee shop near Dupont Circle for two hours, and nothing. Sam had come by to keep her company, and together they had waited. Apologies happened all around via email, of course, but still, she is nervous. 

She also wishes she was meeting someone else entirely – but it’s a step too far for that now. 

Arriving early, she sighs and sits. Her fingers pluck at the lacy hem of her skirt – don’t go in your work clothes, C.J. and Donna had said over lunch, smiling widely. You’re more than work, he has to know that, they said. Her mouth curls, soft blond hair falling across her shoulders and back. The night is breezy, soft; she breathes in the smell of cherry blossoms. The marble steps are cool under her palms. 

Abruptly, there are a pair of legs in jeans in front of her, a box from Georgetown Cupcakes in her line of sight. She looks up, a flush already starting on her throat. 

There is Sam, smiling, tan. She breathes out, shaking her head. “Sam, what on earth – “

And then, she remembers – she didn’t tell him about the cupcakes. 

An entire year of moments reshapes itself in her mind as she blinks, mouth wide open. She rises and he is there, catching her elbow. She always forgets how small she is next to him. 

“Sam,” she breathes, and it’s all she gets out before he kisses her, his hand flat at the small of her back. The cupcakes are set down at their feet. She curls her fingers into his shirt collar and sighs, shutting her eyes. 

“How long have you known?” she asks after a few moments, her mouth still warm from his. 

“Just since the coffee shop,” he says, fingers sliding through her hair. 

“You should have just said something, you idiot.”

Sam’s mouth falls open. “I didn’t want to spook you!”

“Like I’m a wild horse,” she drawls. 

Instead of replying, he leans down and kisses her again. She shuts her eyes against the slide of his tongue against her bottom lip, her mouth moving with his. He smells like the ocean, like California, or so she thinks; the breeze is soft in her hair. 

_I wanted it to be you_ , she tells him later, in the springtime darkness of her apartment, over wine and cupcakes and Capital Beat. 

He smiles then, wide and boyish, and she can’t help but laugh. 

*


End file.
